It's been a while, guys!

As always, to get your fic featured on UFW, send 500-1000 words to bc.unfinished@gmail.com. (Be sure to include a rating and warnings!)


Today's submission is from franztastisch
Rated: PG
Warnings: the standard canon-compliant Shitty Clint Barton Backstory

Notes: The reason this is here is because of oresteia's ATTF about crossovers and fusions. And because I like this story, dammit, and I want it to actually get somewhere. As far as over arching plots go, this doesn't yet have one. This is based more off an idea I had about Clint meeting an owl in the support struts of the big top, and a desire (that I later realised, because I am that kind of person) to work out some magical countries in North America. Some things are worked out though (e.g. later than what you've got here, Darcy will muscle her way into Clint's life and force him to get friends and have a social life oh the horror. Natasha turns up in about Clint's third year. I think.) Of course, because I am an idiot, I'm attempting to span the whole seven years, which is filling me with a creeping horror and a lot of self doubt. And could also make this the longest thing I've ever written. If I can get it finished. Which I'm sure will happen, it'll just take about four years.

ANYWAY. Any feedback is much appreciated; I'd especially like to know if Clint actually sounds like an 11 year old, because I can't really tell. And ideas for, y'know, actual plots would also be gratefully received. And, if you do click through the link, any ideas for names would also be super helpful. But mainly I sort of want cheerleading and people to pester me. :)

OH and I am not American. Everything here is round about knowledge, Google Maps and Wikipedia.



When he’s not needed anywhere else, Clint spends most of his time up in the catwalks and support beams of the big top. This way he can avoid Davey Chavez who likes to pick on him because he’s small, and Buck who shouts too loudly and too often, and Barney who, it turns out, didn’t think family meant quite as much as Clint thought it did. Sometimes pigeons get caught up there, flying in before the sides are properly fixed and panicking when they find there’s no way out, but this is the first time Clint has ever found an owl.

Clint understands animals – a point illustrated beautifully by Madame Velasquez’ cat who likes no one in the circus at all, apart from Madame Velasquez and Clint – and he’s fairly sure that a) owls shouldn’t be out during the day and b) they should do more than look at you condescendingly when you attempt to shoo them out of a circus big top. But what does Clint know really? He stopped going to school last year; maybe high school teaches you about owl behaviour.

Clint isn’t really sure what to do. The owl is huge with bright yellow eyes and is looking at Clint like Clint is supposed to do something – something other than try and get it out of the tent. When Clint attempts once more, flapping his hand and hissing “go on! Get out of here!” the owl looks so unimpressed Clint worries he’s going mad, because he’s fairly sure this owl is judging him.

And then it sticks its leg out and there’s a letter there, and Clint knows he’s going mad.

_

Clint is a naturally curious person – or at least, curious when he’s not supposed to be, when it’s better not to be; curious in the what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here sort of way, in the don’t-fucking-touch-that sort of way, in the do-that-again-and-I’ll-break-your-arm sort of way, in the broken arm sort of way. So when the letter (delivered by an owl, what the hell?) said:

Dear Mr Barton,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been awarded a place at the [Salem Institute for Magical Learning], one of the most prestigious schools for witchcraft and wizardry in the [Atlantic Confederacy]. Please be at Lou-Ann’s Café on State Road and Pine in Holly Hill, SC at midday on Tuesday the 19th July for further information.

Yours sincerely,

Geraldine Fellows,
Deputy Headmistress

Well… Clint was curious. Because the owl had found him in the big top of Carson’s outside Monroe, NC and whoever sent this – this Geraldine Fellows, Deputy Headmistress – knew that Carson’s would be outside Holly Hill, SC in mid-July, and that was… curious. Interesting.

Definitely worth checking out.

_

For all that Clint was an absurdly curious person, he wasn’t stupid. Or at least, he had learnt from past mistakes. So while he did indeed go to Lou-Ann’s Café on State Road and Pine in Holly Hill, SC at midday on Tuesday the 19th July – for further information no less – he did take one of Jacques sharpest and most easily concealed knives with him. He would have taken his bow, but that was much harder to hide.

Clint wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to do when he arrived at Lou-Ann’s. He considered going in and getting a coffee, but eventually opted for lurking around outside like a creeper to save money.

Clint judged midday by the sun, having no means to tell the time other than an incredibly old phone that only really worked if you hit it just right. He was just looking down to check if his shadow was directly under his feet when a man came out of Lou-Ann’s, looked around briefly and then said; “Clinton Barton I presume?”

Clint looked at him suspiciously before saying “Clint.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s Clint. My name.”

The man smiled, making a noise of understanding before gesturing to the interior to Lou-Ann’s and saying “Care for some lunch, Clint?”

Clint didn’t move. “So you’re a – a wizard then? Do I get a name?”

The man looked quickly around himself before saying, “please, come inside before asking things like that,” and then when Clint didn’t move he conceded. “My name is Kingston James. You may call me Kingston. Please Clint, come inside and I’ll answer any questions you have.”

Clint deliberated for a moment more before curiosity won out again, and he allowed the man – Kingston James – to shepherd him into a corner booth overlooking the State Road.